


Loud, but Mostly Harmless

by brittlestars



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Learning to be a superhero in NYC, M/M, Team Red
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlestars/pseuds/brittlestars
Summary: Miles sets off an alarm, Wade has questionable hygiene, Matt dives off a rooftop, Peter attempts to be the responsible mentor, and Foggy actually is the responsible one. Not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Miles Morales & Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Loud, but Mostly Harmless

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be Team Red shenanigans only but Matt/Foggy crept in and I am 100% not sorry about that. Created following a Team Red server creativity sprint with the prompt: "Alarms, sirens, klaxons, and cacophony."

The chaos begins as soon as Miles touches down on the roof.

It's loud, too loud: a grating, grinding, wailing siren echoing from loudspeakers on all sides. There are flashing lights, too, red and white, but the noise is so overpowering in their ears that it takes a moment for the lights to even register through the reinforced plastic over the eye holes of their masks.

In Miles's defense, this roof, like the building it covers, looks like any other roof in the area.

It's a five storey mixed-use building: there are residential apartments on the top four floors (with the fifth floor having a slightly higher ceiling and more generous windows) and the ground floor is a pizza shop.

Right now, it's five storeys of raging cacophony. Residents are pouring out through the front door. Others are going down their balconies and then the creaking fire escape. Most are wearing pajamas, sweatpants, boxers and slippers, or the like. All are frowning. No one seems in any particular rush. The general mood is more resignation than anything desperate or scared. Several people have hauled out their cell phones, one man yelling into his, red-faced. At least it's no longer raining.

Three minutes ago, Miles and Peter had been swinging, with Wade following along at street level. Peter was a bit late in shouting a warning to Miles, so Miles only got the idea that this particular roof shouldn't be landed upon a second before he landed, right as his spider sense was tingling.

Five seconds after that the alarm went off, and then Miles was zapped with electricity through the soles of his feet. With the noise and the pain, Miles was getting a pretty good idea of why this wasn't the safest roof.

Like Peter's and Wade's and Matt's suits, Miles's had rubber soles for insulation, thin for spider-clinging and textured for extra traction.

Unlike Peter's and Wade's and Matt's suits, Miles's was threaded throughout with thin, flexible copper wiring. He and Peter had put it together in Peter's apartment over the course of several weeks, testing on weeknights and weekends. The idea was to more efficiently carry Miles's electric zapping power all over his body. Apart from the invisibility, it was one of Miles's best defensive weapons.

Wade had loved the idea of an offense as a defense, and had volunteered to be the test subject when they got to the refining stages of testing.

The suit, Miles knew from those experiments, was very good at conducting electricity.

Thin, flexible copper wires, Miles discovered three minutes ago, was very good at conducting electricity _in both directions_. Not picky, those wires.

As he was zapped, Miles let loose a startled yowl. He was still figuring out this spider sense thing, which had confused him when it had pinged the entire flat plane of the roof at the same time as Peter had shouted "Don't land there!"

With a soft "thwip," a thin line of webbing flew down through the air from two storeys above, on the side of a neighboring building. Peter's aim was off -- Miles realizes he must have switched to invisibility on instinct -- but Miles managed to snag the tether out of the air despite his twitching muscles, and pulled.

Peter reeled Miles upward. After a brief moment suspended on the line and catching his breath, Miles swung over to join Peter on the wall and assess the situation. He flickers in and out of visibility for a moment before he can get his nerves to settle. His ears are ringing, his muscles are tight, and the alarm is incredibly loud, even from here.

Peter was laughing, just a bit. So, nothing to panic about then. "You good?" He shouts above the clamor.

Miles feels stiff and a bit tingly, but he's no longer in pain. "I'm good."

Peter does the thing where he goes still for a second, like he's considering carefully.

"I'll be good, in a second," Miles amends. Peter nods, then turns his head.

"Look who's arriving late to the party."

Wade, who was clamoring up a fire escape on the next building over, was laughing heartily.

"Newbie spider sets off the famous roof!" Wade whoops, "And I got to experience it with mine own eyes and ears. Always a fun night, running with you two."

"...Sorry?" Miles says, looking to Peter in confusion.

Peter, shoulders hunched up around his ears to try and block out the worst of the sound, shrugs. "Don't worry about it, the klaxon'll stop in a minute, once Mr. Wexton stops yelling into his phone long enough for the building manager on the other end of the call to reset the system."

Sure enough, the red-faced man below them is yelling, "--THIRD TIME THIS YEAR I HAVE AN INFANT TO WATCH OVER HOW CAN MY PRECIOUS INFANT SLEEP WITH THIS GODDAMN RACKET?"

Miles sees a weary man patting Mr. Wexton's shoulder with one hand and holding a sleeping infant in the other arm. His fuzzy blue slippers match Mr. Wexton's and he has a baby's milk bottle tucked into one pocket of his bathrobe.

Mr. Wexton puts a hand over the phone for a moment and turns to look at the baby, face softening into a huge smile, before some sound from the phone must catch his ear and he's turning back again, storming off toward the building. "I DON'T CARE IF IT DETECTED IRON MAN HIMSELF THE FIRE ALARM SHOULD ONLY GO OFF IF THERE IS AN ACTUAL FIRE AND ANOTHER THING--'

At that moment, the alarm shuts off. Mr. Wexton's shouting rings loud and clear in the sudden, comparative silence. "DON'T TELL ME IT'S GETTING BETTER! THREE FALSE ALARMS IS THREE TOO MANY! CHRIST IT'S LIKE YOU THINK EVERY LOONY IN THE CITY IS GOING TO DROP IN ON THE ROOF OF A PIZZA PARLOR! THE PIZZA ISN'T EVEN THAT GOOD!"

A woman with huge forearms wearing a white apron and a chef's hat rolls her eyes, then pushes the door open back into the building. The rest of the small crowd filters in behind her, blinking, bleary-eyed, and muttering to each other.

"Their pizza's alright," Peter comments, "if you don't mind crust so thin it's a cracker."

"Cracker crust is an abomination," Wade avows, pulling off a glove and then sticking finger in his ear and twisting. "But they do have good breadsticks." He examines the end of his finger and then makes a flicking motion, muttering about the noise-dampening properties of 'homegrown ear plugs.'

Peter is informing Wade that he is: "Gross, man. Walking, talking, utterly gross regenerative grossness," when Miles says, "I'm pretty sure pizza in Italy has thin crust."

Peter and Wade both turn to Miles.

"We are in New York--" Wade says, deadly serious.

"--You swore to protect this city--" says Peter.

"--Not betray her--"

Wade throws his arms wide. "--Next you're gonna say pretzels and bagels and hot dogs have too many carbs--"

"--Wait. Stop." Peter holds up a hand. He focuses on Miles. "You support the Mets, right?"

"I'm sixteen; I have no problem with carbs. I'm not really into sports though--"

Peter leans into Miles's space."Swear fealty to the Mets or we're going home right now to study for your trig exam."

"Um, I'm not really comfortable with the idea of--"

"No, fine. You're right. Just... Yankees fans kind of break my heart."

"I don't know much about baseball but I'm not a barbarian."

The tension melts out of Peter's shoulders. "Good," he says with a single, curt nod. "Math homework evaded."

"Eh, leave the kid be, Petey-Pete. Jeff raised him right. He's clearly no Yankees fan."

"Good," Peter repeats.

Miles vows never to bring up soccer with these two. Casting about for a distraction, he points down at the last three residents having a cigarette against the brick wall below them. "At least nobody seem too bothered, apart from the one guy."

Miles lurches forward when Wade claps a meaty hand between his shoulders. "Don't worry about the ruckus, Training Wheels. It'll do these folks some good to spice up their routine with a bit of late night apartment stairwell climbing."

"From what the one guy was yelling, I guess the alarm sort of happens a lot though."

Peter nods. "Used to happen more often. Would go off at stray cats."

"It's one of a kind," Wade said, voice full of admiration.

"But why would an apartment building have such a security system?"

"That's thing! Nobody knows."

"I thought you were a professional," came a voice from above them.

"Horns!" Miles said, delighted.

The figure crouched above them is mostly wreathed in shadow, but somehow still projects an aura of scowling.

Miles smiles behind his mask. Being with Team Red always makes him feel like less of a kid and more of a hero. Or, at least, like one of the cool kids.

"I think," Matt growls, eventually, "I preferred 'Red.'"

"I figured 'Horns' was a less sight-focused nickname," Miles explains, "but I'll call you Red if you want."

"What I want," Matt finally stops the pretense of the Daredevil voice, "is for my perfectly effective crime-fighting not to be interrupted by ear-splitting sirens right as I'm putting a bad guy down."

Wade gasps and claps both hands over the sides of Miles's head, covering his ears.

"He means incapacitating them," says Peter.

"Red wouldn't kill anybody," insists Miles. "I know that."

Matt nods.

"If he needed somebody dead," Miles continues, "he'd just ask Wade."

Wade nods.

Peter sighs.

Wade pulls out and flicks open an obscenely large pocket knife and begins to clean under his fingernails. "Everybody in the biz knows to avoid that roof. Even _Hawkeye_ knows to avoid that roof. Not 'cuz of gang or mob activity or anything, but because of the tingles."

"The tingles," Matt echoes.

"The roof's electrified. I got zapped," Miles explains. "But I'm fine."

"It's my fault," says Peter. "I should have explained to avoid this particular roof during early training rounds. We didn't come through this area much."

Miles cranes his neck, squinting down as the last trio of tired and frustrated tenants trickles back into the building. "I don't get it. It looks like any of the buildings around here."

"It is like any of the buildings around here--"

"--quite a bit less pigeon poop--" Wade interjects.

"--except that the entire roof surface is wired with pressure-sensitive triggers and a network of electrified plates. Only the top is modified in any way."

"That has got to be a fire code violation," Peter muses.

Matt nods. "It is."

"But the alarm goes off when the roof is disturbed on the outside, so it's not trapping something inside. It must be guarding something."

"Seems to be."

"Is it a bank?"

Peter, Matt, and Wade all shake their heads: no. Wade clicks his knife shut.

"A secret bank, then?"

"Kid, I admire your imagination -- don't ever lose that -- but no. No, it is not a 'secret bank.'"

"If it were something black market, either Red or I would have gotten wind of it by now," explains Wade, fishing out a stick of beef jerky and refilling that pouch with the knife. He takes a bite of the jerky without even bothering to remove the plastic and chews with his mouth open, thoughtful. "Nobody in the underworld is particularly interested in this building."

Miles snaps his fingers, inadvertently setting off a few sparks. "An art gallery! A private art gallery. That's my final guess." He nods to himself, decisive, then looks to Peter. "Five bucks on it."

Matt cocks his head for a second, then strokes his chin with a gloved hand, thinking. Peter nods, then shrugs. "Could be."

Wade gulps down another bite of the jerky, then offers the remains to Miles, who declines, and then to Matt, who ignores him. Peter says "No," before Wade can even offer. When Peter's stomach growls, Wade frowns, but Peter just says "No" again. Wade shrugs and polishes off the jerky (and wrapper), then claps his hands together and stands.

"It's been an exciting evening gang, but I've got time to kill and people to waste. Or maybe," he winks through his suit, "the other way around."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Miles stands, a lithe line at a right angle to the wall and to gravity. "Let's hop over there and figure this out!"

Matt interrupts. "How about not?" he says hastily.

Wade snaps his fingers and points at Matt. "Five bucks says it's a sex thing!"

Peter claps his hands over Miles's ears.

Wade leans toward Miles and stage whispers through Peter's hand, "The altar boy always gets a bit jumpy when it comes to good old-fashioned hanky-panky."

"Firstly, it is not a sex thing. And, secondly, no, I don't."

"You're blushing red right now!" Wade insists.

"Wade--" Peter attempts.

"No, I'm not."

"Wade--" Peter attempts again.

"How would you even know?"

Matt launches himself bodily off the roof at Wade, snarling. Several seconds later their tangled ball of grappling fists and red leather crash lands in the wet alley below with a meaty thud.

Peter turns to Miles as Miles bats his hands away. "So, anyway. What I think Matt was trying to say before he flung himself to his death, again, is: maybe let's not use our powers to spy on people who aren't doing anything suspicious?"

Matt's voice, choked and frazzled but thankfully alive from landing on Wade's body rather than the hard ground, floats up from the alley. "Thanks, Peter! That's exactly what I meant."

"Oh," says Miles. "Yea, that makes sense." His gaze lingers on the windows top floor of the building though. The curtains are drawn shut. "Isn't an electrified roof suspicious though?"

"In the day and age of alien invasions and not one but _two_ radioactive spider people? I'd say it's a fairly practical bit of safety in New York City."

Miles stretches his sore muscles. "So long as the roof doesn't, like, transform into a giant evil electrified robot or anything."

"If it does," Peter says, "we'll be here."

Miles flushes warm at Peter's use of 'we.' It's a good feeling. He straightens his shoulders a little. "So, Spider-Man, feel like going for a swing? Or is it past your bedtime?"

Peter chuckles. "The night is young." He sends out a web line and swoops away in a high arc over the booby-trapped building. Miles lets out a shout of joy and follows.

Below, Wade mutters into Matt's ear, "You just didn't want me to win five dollars." His voice is barely intelligible through the crack and snap of his jaw rebuilding itself. If Matt happens to step on Wade's face and push him into a puddle as he hauls himself to his feet, well, there's no one else there to witness it. Wade will recover, eventually.

When Matt hauls himself in through the apartment window twenty minutes later, Foggy is relieved to see he is unscathed. "False alarm?" He asks after giving Matt a brief once-over with his gaze.

Matt pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his hair. "Something like that." He walks over, wrapping his arms loosely around Foggy's waist and giving him a quick peck of a kiss on the cheek. Foggy is warm and soft.

Foggy lets Matt linger in the embrace for a long moment before finally saying, "Take that off and come get some food and water in you, then we'll go to bed early."

"Oh?" Matt asks, all innocent eyes and sly smile.

Foggy taps him on the nose. "Shower first, then food. Then bedtime. Vigilantes need their calories, and good vigilantes know to have dinner before asking for dessert."

The smile on Matt's face stretches wider and he ducks in to steal another quick kiss, this one on the lips, before jumping back, grabbing his helmet, and darting off toward the bathroom.

Foggy shakes his head, watching Matt go and smiling fondly. He hums as he busies himself in the kitchen, making a pot of tea and re-heating the soup leftover from yesterday.

"I overheard the Wextons again today," Matt says as he sits down at the kitchen table ten minutes later. He's only wearing a fuzzy towel, wrapped low around his waist, and Foggy knows he chose that purely to be a tease. The air is cool, even in the apartment.

"Oh? How are they doing? Mr. Wexton's husband make any more crazy inventions?"

Matt sips another spoonful of soup broth and shakes his head: no. Then he nods. "He got his old job back and that, and his daughter, seem to keep him busy; I doubt he'll turn evil rogue mad scientist any time soon."

"Is the little one okay?

"She seems to be doing great. Slept through a fire alarm with hardly a peep. Her heart... it sounds really nice."

"Oh, bless," Foggy says, getting a far-off look in his eyes. After a moment he straightens and says, "My mom always said she was grateful that I could sleep through anything, what with her and dad having to keep my crib in the backroom of the shop for those first couple of years and then all my older cousins coming and going when we finally got the apartment figured out again."

"My dad," Matt begins, then swallows. He sets his spoon down by his bowl.

Foggy looks up at Matt, both of them going still at the mention of Jack.

"Dad said the same about me," Matt finally says, almost a whisper. "Said I slept 'like a log.' At least before the accident."

Foggy waits to see if Matt has any more to say. When no more words come and Matt seems on the verge of losing himself in the memory, Foggy slowly slides his hand across the table and places it gently over Matt's hand. Matt flips his hand and squeezes their interlaced fingers. He gently strokes Foggy's wedding band.

They sit together, drinking tea and listening to the city, long into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Matt and Foggy are each contemplating what it would be like to adopt a kid, wondering if their kid would be a sound sleeper or a fussy one, and knowing they would love the child either way. Also knowing that Peter and Wade would keep the kid safe, no need for electrified roofs.


End file.
